


Luck of the Irish Stroll

by GoldBlooded



Series: Stucky Flavor of the Month [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bearded Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Come Marking, D/s overtones, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Irish Steve Rogers, Irish Stroll Bar Crawl, M/M, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, One Night Stands, Or friends with benefits to lovers, Power Dynamics, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Scottish Bucky Barnes, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-indulgent fluff, Sex, St. Patrick's Day, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Stucky - Freeform, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve, holiday fic, one night stands to relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldBlooded/pseuds/GoldBlooded
Summary: Every year Steve and Sam go on the Irish Stroll Bar Crawl, and ever since their first time on the Stroll four years ago, Steve and Sam cross paths with Bucky and Natasha.Every year they drink and celebrate in a little group, and every year Steve’s world is rocked by the gorgeous, blue-eyed man that has captivated him since they first locked eyes fighting over a couple of pints of Guinness from the bartender.Every year that man takes Steve to bed, and every year he makes Steve feel more alive than he'd ever thought possible.But Steve's starting to want and need more of Bucky... will this be the year he can make it last for more than one night?





	Luck of the Irish Stroll

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies, and Happy St. Patrick's Day! 
> 
> Before we get started, a few notes:  
> First- Bucky is Scottish in this, based on [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878852/chapters/30371610) wonderful essay.  
> Second- Yes, I know Guinness is basically black and therefore 'can't be colored green' but I'm here to tell you that it exists, I have had it, and yeah it's still black but the foam and shine on it is green, so. Just imagine that.  
> Third- This was beta'd by the incomparable [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), who had her work cut out for her with this one, who does so much more for me than beta, and who always shepherds me into productive territory when I'm spiraling. You are a wonder. <3

 

 

Everyone had their favorite holidays. Some joyously anticipated Christmas all year round (Steve’s Ma), some plotted months in advance for Halloween trickery (Sam), some loved the quiet herald of imminent summer that was Mayday (Peggy). Most people assumed that Steve loved the Fourth of July best, and once upon a time they’d have been right.

Nowadays?

Nowadays Steve anticipated St. Patrick’s Day with every ounce of his Irish blood.

He loved the parades, the celebration of Irish culture and heritage ( _his_ culture and heritage), the seas of green splashed over the city, the bar crawls, and the annual charity boxing event.

Somehow, Sam convinced Steve to compete in the bracket leading up to this year’s Prospect Park Fighting Irish Charity Boxing Match. He’d trained for weeks, won all of his preliminary matches with ease, and found himself writing down as many Irish surnames as his mother had told him were in the family to be introduced in the title match.

(It was between Liam Murphy Gallagher O’Shea and himself, and, well, ‘Steve Rogers’ didn’t sound very much like a Proud Irishman next to Liam’s impressive introduction.)

He’d already proved his singularly Irish heritage to the organizers, and while it felt a little weird and a touch on the wrong side of nationalistic, the winning Irishman of each weight class got to donate the purse to their charity of choice. Steve’s was the youth center in Red Hook where he volunteered teaching art, since the center was in desperate need of new supplies.

Not only that, but Steve loved a good brawl every now and then. And if it was for a good cause? More the better. But also, the winner and a plus one drank free for the entirety of the Stroll, and there were more than a few ways that would come in handy.

Every year Steve and Sam went on the Irish Stroll Bar Crawl, and for the last four years they’d undertaken the adventure with another set of friends they’d met their first time on the Stroll at Paddy’s Pub in Park Slope.

Every year Steve and Sam crossed paths with Bucky and Natasha. Every year they drank and celebrated in a little group, and every year Steve and Sam went home with Bucky and Natasha, respectively.

Every year Steve’s world was rocked by the handsome, rakish man that had captivated him since they first locked eyes fighting over a couple of pints of green Guinness from the bartender. And every year Steve yearned to ask for Bucky’s number, to ask him on a date, to see him outside of this annual tradition… because every year Steve worried it would be the _last_.

It had now been five since their first St. Patrick’s Day together. Bucky had been in two serious relationships during that time, and Steve had been in one. Luckily neither of them were involved over St. Patrick’s Day itself, and Steve and Bucky continued to lose themselves in each other.

The first year was Steve’s first time with a man, ever. He learned a lot about himself that night. The second, Bucky had introduced him to the delights of rimming. The third, they switched, and Steve loved the feeling of getting to take and be taken with the same partner. The fourth, Bucky had been coy and submissive. The dominance he had wrought out of Steve left him feeling as if his skin was going to burn right off.

Naturally, Steve couldn’t wait to see what Bucky had in store for him this year. But the world keeps turning, life moves on. Would this be the year that Bucky comes with a boyfriend or girlfriend instead of Natasha? Would this be the year he comes with a husband or wife?

Would this be the year he didn’t show up at all?

\---

Bucky didn’t really feel up to the Irish Stroll this year.

He was only a month out from his second break-up with Brock. It took yet another explosive, horrible fight, this one on Valentine’s Day, for Bucky to finally say _enough_ , and he still felt raw and fragile. He didn’t want Steve to see him like that.

Beautiful, naive Steve. He was an excellent student in the art of sex; each night they spent together was more passionate and special than the last. Bucky had a real soft spot for the other man, and almost asked for his number each morning after. Every time, something stopped him, though he couldn’t say what exactly.

So now here he was, schlepping around his messy apartment, in bad need of a shave and shower, feeling even more disgusting than usual at the thought of Gorgeous Steve seeing Bucky as anything other than his usual, charming self.

Fuck Brock. And fuck his own damn self for giving Brock a second chance.

Natasha said the Stroll would cheer him up, get his mind off of things. Maybe it would remind Bucky that there were other, better men out there than Brock fucking Rumlow, and that they thirsted for him.

Which, okay, she had a point, if these were normal circumstances. But right now Bucky felt like an empty shell of the man he’d been a year ago... like Brock had scraped out everything that had made Bucky _Bucky_ and tossed it into the murky waters of the East River.

So no, Bucky wasn’t going on the Stroll.

But he would, under extreme duress and physical threat from Natasha, be going to the charity boxing match in the park. Nothing like a little legal gambling to take one’s mind off romantic destruction.

The unseasonably warm morning of March 17th dawned and Natasha let herself into Bucky’s apartment and rallied him into sluggish action. He couldn’t be bothered to shave, though he did shower and style his hair, and was proud of those small accomplishments. Natasha pulled out a green shirt for him to wear from somewhere in the depths of his closet, already in an emerald sweater herself.  She gave him a once-over and approved of him looking well enough to be seen in public with her, and squeezed his hand in reassurance before herding him down to the subway.

The grassy area of Prospect Park where the boxing ring and folding chair arena were set up was ready and waiting when they got there. People milled about, everyone was either in green or had an Irish flag represented somewhere about their person. Natasha made quick work of finding the bookies (both legal and illegal) and pulled out the VIP passes she’d gotten from an unnamed source. Apparently, they had ringside seats. He wasn’t nearly as excited about it as she was, but if Bucky got to sit there and watch sweaty, buff dudes compete in athletic skill for a couple of hours… well, there were worse ways to pass the time.

People shuffled all around them, and the pair of dudebros that had just taken seats behind Bucky and Natasha were arguing over heritage semantics. Bucky rolled his eyes and stole some popcorn from the overflowing paper bucket Natasha had just brought over, with an armful of other snacks.

“You’re only _half_ Irish, my man. Doesn’t count. The fight’s for full Irishmen only.”  
  
“Well who the hell in New York can say they’re pure Irish these days, anyway?” the second man grumbled.

Bucky could think of one.

There was a tap on his shoulder and Bucky turned around, and the man owning the second dudebro voice addressed them.

“Hey, either of you guys full Irish?”

“Uh, no, I’m Scottish,” Bucky responded, taking the giant Sprite bottle Natasha had just proffered.

“Russian,” Natasha answered flatly, clearly more interested in their snack situation.

“See?” the man gestured at the pair, as if this small sampling of the general New York population proved his point. His friend patted his shoulder in sympathy.

“Sorry buddy, maybe next year they’ll be more lenient.”

There was still grumbling behind them when the emcee entered the boxing ring to open the match and introduce the fighters for the lightweight class. There were lots of cheers and rowdy hollers, and then the referee stepped into the ring with the emcee to get Round One started.

Three hours and weight classes later, the title heavyweight champion match was about to begin. By now every seat in the makeshift arena was full, and beyond the organized setup there was a large crowd in their own chairs or standing. Everyone there was itching for the final fight: _this_ was what most people came out to see, the literal and figurative big guns.  Bucky was starting to appreciate their amazing seats more with each passing minute.

Finally the emcee returned to the ring to rally the audience in his own lilting Irish brogue for _what they’d all been waiting for!_

“In this corner, we’ve got 212 pounds hailing from Counties Donegal and Kerry from the ole Emerald Isle, by way of Bed-Stuy, Liam Murphy Gallagher O’Shea!”

The crowd hollered in appreciation for the stocky man who climbed into the ring.

“Aaaand in this corner,” the emcee continued, “we’ve got 240 pounds hailing from County Clare by way of Red Hook, Steven Grant Kennedy O’Neill Rogers!”

Bucky choked on his newest overpriced Sprite and watched in awe as Steven Grant Kennedy O’Neill Rogers, Gorgeous Steve, _his Steve_ , climbed into the ring.

Fuck, he looked good. The beard was new, and _holy shit_ was it working for him. It darkened his whole look, and the clean-shaven, golden-blonde, overly-earnest guy Bucky had met a few years ago, seen even just last year, was gone. Steve had grown and settled, his hair now honeyed light brown and long, pushed back from his face in a way that made his bright blue eyes - so full of grit, determination, and excitement - positively shine, and Bucky’s breath caught.

If the crowd was enthusiastic about Liam, they went nuts for Steve, the uproar doubling in volume as he shrugged off his flimsy robe. It was no wonder why: Steve had been a big guy before but now he was absolutely _massive_ , with miles of muscle under that creamy skin.

And oh, Bucky knew the exact rosy shade it turned when flushed with exertion and just how far down that flush went. He knew what Steve’s body looked like writhing in pleasure and panting for breath. He knew how that sweat-slick skin tasted after an orgasm or two. He had an intimate knowledge of Steve’s physiology and had _very_ specific memories tied to that body and this was bad. This was really, really bad.

How could he be expected to sit here, with his jeans already uncomfortably tight on his hardening cock, watching his favorite fuck buddy flaunt his muscles and athleticism in a primal display of dominance?

With popcorn, that’s how.

Bucky nudged Natasha, who passed him the refilled bucket with a sly smirk and he used the popcorn to hide his lap and provide distraction for his hands. He shoved a handful of kernels into his gaping trap, though it was a poor substitute of what he’d much rather have in his mouth.

The fight began, and Liam was a blaze of flurried energy. He was on the offensive, lunging and jabbing at Steve, who circled and blocked with careful, deliberate movements. Bucky didn’t know anything about boxing beyond what he’d seen earlier that day, but it was obvious that Liam was going to tire himself out and Steve was lying in wait.

Sam was there too, in the role of coach, psyching up and watering Steve during breaks, and even winked at Natasha at one point. Bucky could now take a wild guess as to the reason for their ringside seats.

Four or so rounds in, Liam was getting tired and sloppy, and Steve was starting to get fired up. They each landed some hits, though Steve far more than Liam. Seven rounds in, Liam was staggering like a drunkard and Steve was still razor-sharp and focused. His skin was glistening with sweat and flushed rosy from face to sternum, just like Bucky remembered. Steve’s hair was wet and Bucky knew that if his hands weren’t in boxing gloves, Steve would absentmindedly run the fingers of his left through the sweaty tendrils and push them away from his face, eyes far away in thought as he did so.

Round Nine: Steve was starting to tire, but Liam was struggling to stay upright. They circled each other, Steve regulating his breathing while watching Liam’s erratic movements. There was a moment of stillness, and then Liam rallied and came at Steve, who dodged easily and landed one, two, hits to Liam, who fell backwards.

The referee came in, and though Liam was still moving, he called a technical knockout. There was no way that guy was getting up again. And Bucky _knew_ that Steve had pulled his punches, that if they’d been in a real fight with something to fight over besides charity money, that Liam would have been knocked out within half that time.

And then the emcee was there, declaring Steve the winner and raising one of his gloved hands. Steve smiled tiredly, but his eyes glittered with pride and triumph. And then Sam was in the ring, clapping Steve on the back. He also whispered something and nudged Steve a little, whose eyes scanned the crowd before settling on Bucky.

If Bucky’s breath had caught at the sight of Gorgeous Steve earlier, then now, with all that attention focused on him, his heart stopped. For that glorious, standstill moment, the world didn’t exist. Steve looked at Bucky not like he was undesirable, or weak, or broken, or too much of a wimp, or too emotional, too possessive, too bitchy, too nagging, or any of the other horrible things that Brock made him feel.

For that glorious, standstill moment, Steve looked at Bucky as if he were the best thing to ever happen. Steve looked at Bucky with cautious hope and wonder in his eyes, like a man in a desert looks at an oasis: it’s what he wants more than anything else, but is afraid it’s too good to be true. And then Steve’s expression shifted minutely, to one of delight and pure hunger.

And then the emcee said something else and the spell was broken, and the world moved in fast-forward motion, as if to make up for the standstill. Bucky’s heart resumed beating, wild and erratic. He took deep, steadying breaths, and focused on the grass in front of him, and heard Natasha address him, though it sounded distant and hollow through the rushing in his ears.

“So… still wanna skip the Stroll?”

“Shut up.”

\---

Steve collected his winnings check for the youth club, gathered all his gear, and stashed everything back in the locker he was renting for the day at a nearby gym. He then showered and dressed in simple jeans and a complimentary t-shirt that advertised the Fighting Irish Charity Boxing Match he had just won, and pulled a simple gray zip-up hoodie over his shoulders.

He made sure to grab his keys, phone, wallet, and the two metallic gold wristbands he’d been given before securing the lock and walking to the corner where he was supposed to meet Sam. Sam... and Natasha, and hopefully Bucky.

Sam had kept the whole thing secret from Steve, that Natasha and Bucky would be there, though he’d told Steve he didn’t even know if they’d show up. That’s how Steve learned that Sam had had Natasha’s number for multiple years, apparently. And well, if Steve had bothered to _ask,_ Sam would have been happy to get Bucky’s number for him, and it wasn’t Sam’s fault that he didn’t pay attention, was it, Steve?

The afternoon sun warmed the air even more than it had that morning, though a crisp breeze was moving in to offset it. Steve walked the couple blocks to the corner down from Paddy’s Pub and saw the group of three waiting for him.

Sam was talking, telling Natasha a story, maybe, from the half-smile that quirked her lips as she stared back at him. Bucky was looking at his feet, shuffling a little bit. He looked… he looked nervous. More than that, now that Steve had the time to see him properly, he wasn’t the broad, golden-skinned rogue with the charming smile that Steve was used to.

Bucky was thinner, veering into lean territory rather than the near-bulkiness Steve had only known him to occupy. He wasn’t painfully thin or anything, but Steve had a feeling he was seeing Bucky’s body in its natural state, without hours at the gym or strict diets. Bucky was always careful about his appearance; he was fastidious about working out and his health. Steve knew that because Bucky had told him their first St. Patrick’s Day together, and because Steve watched Bucky count his Guinnesses and cut himself off before he’d taken in too many calories, on that day and all the ones since.

And now, as Steve watched Bucky with his styled hair shifting slightly in the breeze, he noticed that his skin was pale, and there were lines drawn around his eyes and blue-purple circles underneath. So, something _big_ had happened to Bucky, and it was enough to make him give up a cornerstone of his identity, enough to steal restful sleep, and enough to make Bucky quiet and meek where he had once been charismatic and charming.

Whatever it was, Steve yearned to make it better.

He approached the group and when he was but a handful of steps away, Bucky finally looked up at him. His expression was shy, but an echo of the coyness from last year remained, along with the slight head tilt as he regarded Steve. It made Steve’s insides start to turn molten with the memories. He shook off the feeling, and smiled.

“Hey, Buck. I’m glad you could make it again this year, I’m real glad to see you.” Steve put as much honesty and earnestness into that statement as he could, because it seemed like Bucky might need to hear that he was valued right now. It must have worked because he got a small, sweet smile in return.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hey, listen, I got these for winning,” he pulled the gold wristbands from his pocket, now with slight creases. “Wearers get free drinks on the Stroll, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be my plus one?”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip with a furrowed brow before responding, “But, what about Sam?”

“Sam can pay for his own damn wristband.”

Truth was, Sam knew about Steve’s plan to make this year stick, knew that Steve wanted to give Bucky the other gold wristband, that he wanted to have that small tangible evidence that they were two halves of a whole, even if it did end up being for only one night. Sam was on board with it, though it didn’t stop his snark.

“Thanks, man, that’s real charitable. Not like I signed you up for the fight in the first place or anything, not like I _coached_ you-”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, Buck, it’s yours if you want it. And I’d really like you to have it.”

Bucky looked torn. “Well, I wasn’t really plannin’ on going on the Stroll this year...” Steve’s stomach sank. “But I mean, who am I to turn down free drinks and good company?”

Steve knew they looked like idiots, grinning as they took turns snapping the shiny, metallic plastic to each other’s wrists, and it was all Steve could do to not reach out and lace their fingers together on the short walk to Paddy’s.

With a little luck, he’d be able to soon.

Winning the Fighting Irish title match _definitely_ had its perks. Not only did Steve get the wristbands, but when they walked into the door at Paddy’s they were met with a wave of cheers, a prime table reserved, and their pick of the already pulled and resting Guinness pints.

Their waitress handed them menus, and Steve’s had a cocktail napkin with a phone number tucked inside. The waitress winked at him and he blushed furiously and stuffed the napkin into his pocket. Of course the others gave him shit for it, but Bucky was smiling and Steve supposed it was a small price to pay.

Sam and Natasha got into an argument about tolerance levels and ordered two trays of the very hottest wings on the menu, neither backing down as the waitress questioned them.

“...Are you sure?”

They glared at her defiantly. Steve ordered two different burgers and a French dip; he was absolutely starving since he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

Bucky ordered mozzarella sticks and nothing else. This gave Steve pause, because despite counting his drinks, normally Bucky would say ‘fuck it, might as well go all out’ and order the gnarliest burger on the menu. Decreased appetite was new, and he added that to his mental list.

The freshly-pulled Guinnesses they’d picked when they came in had now rested long enough to settle, the depths of the near-black liquid shining emerald instead of amber for the holiday. Sam said that as the only Irishman at the table, Steve was the only one qualified to give a toast that day. Steve shook his head and lifted his pint, light green foam nearly sloshing over the side with the motion.

“Ah, okay. So. My Ma’s favorite toast seems appropriate this fine afternoon, so here goes: Always remember to forget the things that make you sad. But never forget to remember the things that make you glad.”

He glanced over at Bucky, who looked stricken, but appreciative. Almost like it was exactly what he needed to hear. Steve’s chest welled with pride and he continued his toast.

“To Sam, stalwart and strong, the voice of reason, the backbone of my life. To Natasha, who always knows what’s best. To Bucky, who shows me better than anyone how to let loose and have fun. To my Ma, may she rest in peace. To Ireland, land of my ancestors and home of my history. To the Brooklyn Irish Stroll, may it be the luckiest one yet,” he said with a glance at Bucky, “and to the good people at this table, may the road rise up to meet us. Cheers!”

The other three echoed with _Cheers!_ of their own before they all clinked glasses and took sips. Steve tried and failed not to stare at Bucky’s mouth as he licked the foamy mustache away.

“God damn but I forgot how good you are at toasting,” Natasha said approvingly. “Good call, Sam.”

“Right? He’s toasting every round, none of us can follow that shit.”

The waitress came back with their food, which took up nearly every square inch of their table. Steve, Sam, and Natasha dug in with gusto, but Bucky slowly ate his mozzarella sticks, almost as if he was having to make the conscious decision to keep eating. But as the conversation and Guinness flowed, Steve could see the line of Bucky’s shoulders relax, and eventually he had eaten all of his mozzarella sticks and a few of Steve’s sweet potato fries, to boot.

Natasha and Sam, on the other hand, were in bad shape. Natasha’s face was red and sweaty, and Sam’s eyes and nose were steadily streaming, though they both kept eating, glaring hard at each other as if daring the other to give up, until both trays were depleted.

After they’d finished their second pints, Paddy’s was getting uncomfortably crowded. Natasha proposed they moved their party to the next stop on the Stroll, and all agreed. They gathered their things, tipped the waitress well (Steve felt it was the least he could do since he would definitely _not_ be using the napkin in his pocket), and set off the eight blocks to McNally’s Tavern.

Their time at McNally’s went much of the same as Paddy’s, though they passed on the food. Steve got handed multiple phone numbers, which joined the first in his pocket. The foursome talked and got caught up on each other’s lives.

Steve learned - from Natasha, actually, because Bucky looked absolutely miserable when Sam asked what he’d been up to - that Bucky had just broken up with the same loser that fucked him over a couple years back. The same one that led to their night of switching, where Steve got to top Bucky for the first time. While he enjoyed that night immensely, it made his stomach sour to think that Bucky would give a guy like that a second chance.

But… maybe that means he’d give a guy like Steve a first chance? Steve tried his best not to be an asshole, and he felt sure that on his worst day he’d do better than Brock on his very best. Maybe… maybe somehow Bucky might be able to see that in Steve, eventually. If he gave Steve the chance to show him.

When they left McNally’s on their way to Clover’s Knoll, Steve emptied his pockets of the phone numbers and tossed them into the first trashcan they walked past. He may have been imagining Bucky’s little smile at the action, but then again, maybe not.

Clover’s Knoll had the best potato skins in the borough, or at least Steve thought so. They ordered a large tray for their table and when it arrived, Steve realized two things: first, that Bucky absolutely had his appetite back, because he was now two potato skins deep and hogging the sour cream; and second, that he wasn’t counting his pints.

Steve made a point to match Bucky drink for drink, so they would always be in the same buzz zone. But they had just finished what would normally have been Bucky’s limit (which would be quitting quite early by everyone else’s standards) and he was totally unconcerned. Steve realized that Bucky hadn’t said the numbers quietly to himself as he dove into the fresh foam of each new pint, and had instead become more unwound and cheerful as the evening wore on.

Steve liked seeing him like this: eyes shining, smiling easily, indifferent about his caloric intake or how what he was eating would affect his workout in the morning, or how much extra time he’d have to spend on the treadmill to burn it all off.

When they’d started at Paddy’s, Bucky was tense, unsure of himself, and quiet. Now, as they readied to leave Clover’s Knoll, Bucky was happy and relaxed, cheeks flushed prettily. He wasn’t brazen like years before, hadn’t pulled those clever, cheesy lines on him yet. Steve was starting to think that maybe this was the most genuine Bucky he’d met yet.

And he was _stunning_.

On the walk from Clover’s Knoll to The Golden Harp, Bucky had shyly taken Steve’s hand, glancing up at Steve from under his lashes, eyes sparkling with want and uncertainty. When Steve laced their fingers together and smiled at Bucky, making sure to show all of the lust and hunger in his eyes, Bucky blushed and bowed his head and oh, if that’s how it was gonna be…

If Bucky was still gun-shy from his recent dysfunctional relationship, if he needed Steve to take the reins this time, if he needed Steve to show him how wonderful he was, how much Steve desired him… Steve could _absolutely_ do that for him.

Another drink and a half at The Golden Harp saw Sam and Natasha making out in a corner, and Bucky running his fingers through Steve’s hair. Bucky was so close, and he smelled so good, and Steve couldn’t help himself as he leaned in the short distance to Bucky.

Their lips met, and Steve poured every ounce of tender affection he could into it. It wasn’t hard or hungry like it had been in the past. Steve needed Bucky to know that he wanted more this time, wanted _him_ this time, and not just for the night.

They kissed like that for a while, slow and sweet. Bucky’s arms were around Steve’s neck, one hand still threaded into the hair at the back of Steve’s head. One of Steve’s hands was around Bucky’s waist, urging him closer, and the other stroked his cheek. Steve felt like he was floating. He had butterflies but also a lurch of desire deep in his gut and he just couldn’t wait any longer.

He slowly pulled out of his kiss with Bucky, touching their foreheads together and continuing to stroke his cheek.

“Bucky… come home with me.”

It was phrased as a command but said gentle and pleading, and like a question. Bucky looked at Steve, wonderment in his eyes, and nodded.

“Okay.”

Steve pulled out his phone and texted Sam, who was still preoccupied with Natasha in their corner, to let him know where they’d gone. The only surprise Sam would have in that statement would be that Steve and Bucky were leaving before they’d gone to all five pubs, giving O’Dell’s a miss for the first time ever.

The cab ride to Steve’s place would normally have involved groping and awkward apologies to the cabbie at the end, but this time Bucky and Steve sat close, Bucky’s cheek on Steve’s shoulder, and every now and then he’d shift to look at Steve, a fond smile on his face, and Steve would reward him with a small kiss.

Upon entering Steve’s apartment, they kissed more, but it wasn’t frenzied, or hurried, or burning. It was relaxed and slow, but no less passionate. Steve was going to take his time tonight, he was going to show Bucky all that he was worth, was going to fuck him so slow and sweet it bordered on making love, until Bucky shuddered and came with Steve’s name on his lips. Steve would would break him apart and look upon his very soul, and do the same with his own for Bucky. They could lay all their cards bare and Steve could show Bucky how much he wanted it, wanted _him,_ until even the thought of walking out of Steve’s life in the daylight was intolerable.

They stumbled to the bedroom, and Steve basked in the feeling of how right it was, how good Bucky felt here, in his home, his space, his bed. He crowded the other man against the pillows, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck. God, it felt so nice to be with him, above him… like slipping into a hot bath. He was so floaty, so content, and Bucky was looking up at him with bedroom eyes.

Steve pulled Bucky close and rolled them so he was on his back and Bucky on top, and Bucky nuzzled him in return and then pillowed his head on Steve’s chest and sighed contentedly. Bucky then shifted so he was half laying on Steve and twined his arms around Steve’s waist and that felt so, so nice. He’d close his eyes for just a minute...

For the first time since they’d met, Steve and Bucky did not have sex on St. Patrick’s Day.

\---

Bucky woke to an empty bed, early morning light streaming in through the large window across the room. He knew where he was: he’d been there before, but he’d never woken up alone. He was still fully dressed, and his stomach sank. Not even Gorgeous Steve had found him desirable enough to fuck last night, though lord knows he’d been willing.

He shifted and sat up, head swirling and lightly pounding. He’d let himself go, hadn’t even bothered counting his drinks last night, and had gotten drunk, but not sloppy drunk. Not hangover-from-Hell drunk. So, at least there was that.

He might as well leave and not be in Steve’s way anymore. He quietly shuffled out to the living/dining/kitchen area where he was met with the smell of coffee brewing and Steve, also still in last night’s clothes, unpacking a takeout bag as quietly as he could.

“Uh…” Bucky started.

Steve looked at him with a smile full of affection, almost like he was actually glad that Bucky was still here.

Huh.

“Good morning. I wasn’t sure what you’d like for breakfast so I went to the hipster café downstairs and got a few different things. There’s huevos rancheros, loaded poutine, chicken and waffles, a breakfast burger, and a skillet scramble. And I made a whole pot of coffee. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds amazing, actually.” And it did.

They ate in companionable silence, and between the two of them, they polished off everything except the scramble, which Steve tucked in his fridge for later.

“So, uh…” Bucky started again, lamely. He was just so eloquent, wasn’t he?

“Buck,” Steve said, face going serious. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold. “What? Why? I thought we had a good time? Was it… Is it because I don’t look like I used to? Is it because Brock-”

“What? No, Bucky stop.” Steve came and wrapped his big arms around Bucky in an embrace. Bucky tried to relax but he couldn’t, knowing rejection was imminent. Steve pulled back so they could look at each other, but kept his hands on Bucky’s arms. “Bucky… I can’t do this once a year thing anymore. I can’t do the Irish Stroll and have fun with you and then have sex and do it all again the next year. I just can’t.”

Steve paused to take a steadying breath, and Bucky could practically hear the _pony up, Rogers_ that must be going through Steve’s head.

“I can’t do it every year anymore. I don’t want to do it every year. Because… I want to do it every day.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in disbelief. Could Steve really mean…?

“I think you’re smart, and funny, and kind, and have the best heart of anyone I’ve ever known. I like who I am with you, I like who you make me want to be. I like that seeing you smile makes my heart skip, or when I’m the reason you smile it stops altogether. I like what we do in bed together, and the only thing I don’t like is saying goodbye.

“So I guess I’m saying that I don’t want to say goodbye. I want to have fun with you and make you smile every day. I want to have sex with you and hold you close and fall asleep together every night, just like we did last night because damn if that wasn’t the _best_ sleep I’ve had in I don’t know how long. So I want to trade numbers. I want to take you out. I want to try something real with you. I don’t know if that’s something you want, but I hope it is. Either way, the yearly stuff stops. I can’t do it anymore.”

Bucky couldn’t even wrap his mind around this. Steve, Gorgeous Steve, wanted him? Like, _wanted him,_ for real and not just a one night stand. Gorgeous Steve saw value in him as a person, value in his company. What even…?

“Okay, so.” Bucky tried, and became aware that he was still gaping like a fish, and closed his mouth with a slight click of teeth. “What do you want to do right now?”

“Well,” Steve said, brushing a hand over Bucky's cheek, “I’d like to go shower with you. Because we both smell like old Guinness and café food, and we need to be _real_ clean for what comes after.”  
  
“Oh?” said Bucky, a little breathlessly. “What comes after?”

Steve let out a low, possessive growl and pulled Bucky close. “After, I’m going to suck your cock until you come down my throat. And then I’m going to lay you out on my bed, and rim and finger you until you’re nice and wet and loose for me. Then I’m going to slip inside of you and stake a claim. Because if we do this? It’s not a one-off, it’s for real. We do this and you’re _mine._ I get to fuck you until you’re howling, begging to come from my cock. And then after _I’ve_ come, inside that gorgeous ass,” which Steve squeezed and slapped for emphasis, “we’re gonna take a nap. And then we’ll go out for lunch. How’s that sound?”

Bucky stared up at Steve, almost believing this was a dream. Even if it was, might as well go for it.

“Shower first, you said?”

\---

The water was on the hot side of warm, just the way Steve liked it. Apparently, Bucky liked it that temperature too, if his groan at the water splashing over him was anything to go by. They had brushed their teeth before getting in, naked save for their gold wristbands, which they couldn’t bring themselves to remove quite yet. Steve thumbed Bucky’s wristband and then spent long minutes just holding him close and kissing him.

At first, Bucky pulled away, eyes wide. He looked like a deer in headlights, panicking at the sheer intimacy. But Steve slowly and gently pulled him close again, and kissed both cheeks and down his neck until Bucky sighed and relaxed into him.

They had never been like this: sober, naked, and vulnerable in the light of day. It added a gravitas to everything: every touch, every sigh, every feeling that filled up the aching in Steve’s chest. The longing for Bucky was washed away, replaced by the pleasure and happiness of having him in his arms.

Steve loaded shampoo into his hands and took his time scrubbing the product out of Bucky’s hair, scratching at his scalp when he hummed in appreciation. After that Steve gently scrubbed skin, taking his time, savoring every inch. Because this? Bucky being here, letting Steve touch him like this, was an acquiescence, a submission, an agreement.

When Bucky was clean (and oh, had Steve enjoyed washing his lower bits), Bucky took his turn. Steve loved the feeling of Bucky working shampoo through his hair and gently scratching the suds through his beard. He watched Bucky’s face, loved the marvel in Bucky’s eyes as he ran soapy hands over Steve’s shoulders, arms, pecs, abs. After Bucky had been as thorough washing Steve’s bits as Steve had been with his, they were both hard and leaking.

Steve rinsed the last of the suds from his body and sank to his knees right there in the shower. The dazed and hungry look Bucky gave him spoke of his approval, and he gently petted the soaked strands of Steve’s hair before tangling his fingers and giving a light tug. Steve groaned as his own cock twitched and he opened his mouth for Bucky’s.

It didn’t take long to make good on his first promise. They were both worked up from their time in the shower, which was sensual and deep and intense in a way it hadn’t been before. In no time Steve’s clever mouth had Bucky leaning against the tiled wall for support, thighs shaking, lungs gasping, and throat moaning. Steve stroked Bucky’s shaft where his mouth wasn’t, twisting his hand with each slide. He swirled his tongue around Bucky’s head, and flicked it on the sensitive underside and then Bucky’s hand clenched in his hair and there was hot, bitter come spurting down Steve’s throat. He swallowed it greedily.

Steve stood up and turned the water off, gathering Bucky in his arms while the other man regained use of his legs. After a few moments Steve stepped out of the shower and held Bucky’s hand to keep him steady while he did the same. As soon as Bucky’s feet were on the bath mat, Steve scooped him up in a fireman's hold and carried him into the bedroom while he let out peals of laughter.

Steve set Bucky in front of the bed and turned him to face it.

“On your knees. You know what comes next.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes dazed, but he did as he was told and clambered onto the edge of the bed. Steve knelt behind and spread Bucky’s cheeks wide, groaning at the sight of the tight pink skin waiting for his attention.

He licked a stripe from Bucky’s balls to his hole, swirling his tongue around the puckered flesh and Bucky gasped in surprise and then let out a long moan. Steve kept at it, licking and suckling and teasing Bucky’s ass, until the other man was hard and dripping again.

He pulled back and took a moment to appreciate the red irritation his beard had caused that Bucky seemed to love. If there had been doubt in his mind before, this would have quashed it: the beard was staying. Steve commanded Bucky to stay put and then went to the night stand to retrieve a condom and the vanilla lube that resided there.

Steve again approached Bucky from behind, but this time he moved Bucky forward until he had crawled up the mattress and laid his head on the pillows. Steve knelt behind him again. He licked at Bucky’s rim and lubed up his fingers, using one to circle Bucky’s entrance as he tongued the tight flesh. He did that, his ministrations getting lighter and lighter, until Bucky begged him for _more, please, god, more!_ and only then did Steve breach him.

Bucky took his finger so beautifully, and Steve teased him until he begged for more yet again. With the second finger, Steve brushed Bucky’s prostate and revelled in the gutted sound he got in return. When three fingers brushed his prostate, Bucky moaned so good for Steve that he kept it up right until it sounded like Bucky was going to come again, and pulled out.

Bucky whined, but Steve sat up and tore open the condom and rolled it over his own leaking cock. He squeezed a good amount of lube onto it and then pushed Bucky aside so he could lay down comfortably on his back, and motioned for Bucky to crawl atop. Once he had, Steve grabbed his thighs and held him still, looking deep into Bucky’s eyes as he spoke.

“I meant it, Buck. We can call it good right now, no harm, no foul. We do this, the second I slip inside of you, it’s real. You belong to me, and I belong to you. We give this a real shot, we work shit out. We’re each other’s go-to at the end of the day. I want that more than I can possibly say, but if you want out, now’s the time.”

Bucky looked at Steve with surprise and then determination. He held Steve’s cock and lined himself up before saying, “There’s nobody I’d rather belong to more than you,” and sank down.

They moaned in unison and Steve’s hands clenched around Bucky’s thighs. He was overwhelmed, Bucky was finally in Steve’s life for good; no more pining, no more sulking. He got to have Bucky all the time, he got to have _sex with Bucky all the time_.

And what great sex it was. Steve had forgotten just how good Bucky felt around him but the memories came flooding back immediately. Bucky rocked his hips and tossed his head back, a beautiful moan leaving those sensual lips. “Steve,” he gasped and brought his head forward so he could focus that intense, gray-blue gaze on the man he was riding. “Steve, you’re mine.”

“Yes, Buck, I’m yours.” Steve's hips jerked up in a thrust to bury himself deeper inside his new boyfriend.

Bucky’s cheeks flushed even harder and did the most beautiful full-body rolls as he rode Steve's cock. He braced his palms against Steve’s chest, the right one above his pounding heart. “For real this time, Stevie. No more - ah! - leavin’.”

“No,” Steve agreed, sitting up so he could kiss Bucky and thrust up to meet the downward roll of his hips. “No more leavin’.”

Steve’s hands stroked up Bucky’s thighs so he could feel the juncture between leg and ass and grabbed the meaty flesh there, guiding Bucky’s movements. Each thrust, each roll of hips felt divine and so _right_ and like nothing Steve had ever experienced. Bucky gasped little _fuck_ s against Steve’s lips as he rode his cock in long, sensual strokes.

“This is all I could think about yesterday,” Bucky told him breathlessly. “You up there, in that boxing ring, flushed and sweaty like I’d only ever seen you be with me. God, I wanted you, I was so fuckin’ hard for you, right there in my seat…”

Steve moaned grabbed the back of Bucky’s hair and tilted Bucky’s head back until he neck was bare. Steve bit and sucked, creating a beautiful work of purple and blue watercolor splotches against Bucky’s throat. He then licked soothing stripes over them and growled, “Mine.”

Bucky gasped and sped up his hips. “Yes! Yes, Steve, yours. God baby, I’m yours. Feels good, so _fucking good…_ ”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and rolled them until he was on top and Bucky had locked his legs around Steve’s waist. Steve thrust in earnest, feeling his orgasm approaching, and lowered himself onto one forearm so he could kiss Bucky and stroke his cock with the other hand.

“You gonna be good for me, babe?” Steve asked. “You gonna come for your boyfriend?” Bucky gasped and stared at him with wide eyes and Steve felt Bucky’s cock twitch in hand as he nodded frantically. Steve growled appreciatively. “Good, cuz I’m gonna come in mine.”

Bucky moaned loudly at that and Steve sped up his hand and tilted his hips _just so_ and then Bucky was wailing one long _Fuuuuuuuck!_ and coming all over himself and Steve’s hand. His hole clenched around Steve’s cock and that was it, Steve slammed his hips to Bucky’s as far as he could go and spilled his seed and staked his claim.

\---

Bucky awoke in Steve’s bed for the second time that day. Unlike the first time, Steve was there, arm slung protectively over Bucky’s waist, face nuzzled to the back of Bucky’s neck.

He felt warm, and happy, and safe. Basically the opposite of how he felt with Brock. Bucky briefly worried that this would be a passing phase, that Steve was just a rebound for Brock, until he realized that was again the opposite of how he felt.

Last year, Brock had been a rebound for Steve. Bucky had enjoyed their night together so much, and felt so empty after leaving without a way to contact Steve that he’d crawled back to his shitbag ex. So no, Bucky was with the right guy, finally. Praise be and hallelujah and all that.

Bucky reflected on the occurrences of that morning. He was worried that Steve wouldn’t want him after he’d seen Bucky naked, a far cry from the bronzed Adonis he had worked so hard all those years to be.

But Steve had taken one look at the body that had gone from almost-bear to practically a twink again, and looked at him with only love and hunger in his eyes. And in the shower Steve touched and caressed him with such care and devotion Bucky felt as if every piece of him was breaking apart at a molecular level, that he was turning to sand under Steve’s hands. And then Steve had held him, solid and strong and _good_ and brought Bucky back to life.

And here they were. Five years, five fucks later, finally at the point where Bucky wanted to be: in Steve’s arms permanently.

Steve snuffled and tightened the grip on Bucky’s waist. Bucky rolled over so he could see Steve’s face, relaxed and eyes still closed. He really was gorgeous.

Bucky asked, “How do you feel about Thai for lunch?”

Steve answered with a smile.

\---

Because New York was both a huge city and a small town, Steve and Bucky ran into Brock at Coney Island for the Fourth of July. Bucky had gone to get a corn dog and cotton candy, and Steve saw a man approach him. He knew from the way Bucky’s face fell and blanched that it could only be one person.

Steve immediately approached them and slung a possessive arm around Bucky’s waist and kissed the side of his face sweetly.

“Hey, babe. Natasha and Sam got us really great seats for the fireworks show.”

Bucky smiled at him appreciatively while Brock glared in disbelief.

"Who’s this, then?” Brock scoffed.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” Steve said, and proffered a hand to shake. It was not accepted so he put it back around Bucky’s waist, giving him a squeeze of reassurance.

“Steve? Like _Steve_ Steve? St. Patrick’s Day Steve?”

Steve, for his part, somehow kept his face passive, like they were only having a pleasant conversation. Bucky, however, grinned.

“Yup, _Steve_ Steve. St. Patrick’s Day Steve. Gorgeous Steve. _Boyfriend_ Steve. Did I miss anything?” Bucky turned his partner to ask.

“Steve with the Big Dick,” he offered.

Bucky nodded earnestly. “Oh right, yeah. Steve with the _very_ Big Dick which he Knows How To Use.”

“Ugh,” Brock said, “Whatever. One man’s trash...” and turned to leave.

“It’s okay, Brock,” Bucky called after him. “I’m sure one day you can sucker someone into treasuring you!”

Steve roared with laughter. That was the best birthday gift he’d ever gotten.

\---

Eight Irish Strolls after they’d originally met, and two Strolls of successfully defending his Fighting Irish boxing title later, Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha entered Paddy’s to the uproar for the Defending Champion.

A few minutes later the bar turned silent as the champion, bruise blooming on his cheekbone and a huge smile on his face, got down on one knee and proposed to his Scottish boyfriend. It was a star-crossed love story if ever there was one, said the bartender.

Said Scottish boyfriend said yes.

Sam called for Steve to toast the whole pub once their Guinnesses had settled enough.

“My Ma had a saying that seems relevant today,” Steve started, but Sam interrupted.

“Didn’t she always?”

The pub laughed, and so did Steve.

“Yes, she did. But especially relevant today. ‘There is no cure for love other than marriage.’ Well I’m lovesick as hell over this guy - my _fiancé_ , can you believe that? - but I hope marriage doesn’t cure it. Because I want to be lovesick for him all the rest of my days.”

He reached out to Bucky, who was smiling with glistening eyes, and gave his hand a squeeze, before continuing.

“To Sam, whose constant presence and strength helped shape the man I am today. To Natasha, who really is right about everything. To Bucky, the light of my life and joy of my existence. To my Ma, may she rest in peace. To Ireland, land of my ancestors and home of my history. To the Brooklyn Irish Stroll and Paddy’s Pub, without which I would never have met the love of my life.”

He had to pause here for hoots and hollering and applause.

“And to all the good people in this pub; may the road rise up to meet us.”

There was a loud, echoing chant from all the fellow Irish in the bar, a cacophonous _May the road rise up to meet us_ with dozens of drinks lifted at the end.

“Cheers!” he wished them all.

“CHEERS!” they wished back.

There was a long moment of quiet where the whole bar took a drink, and then the bartender broke the silence.

“Damn, but that was a good toast.”

“Right?!” asked Sam and Natasha simultaneously. Steve laughed and got a kiss on the cheek from Bucky.

Yeah, St. Patrick’s Day would always be his favorite holiday.  
 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the Brooklyn Irish Stroll and Paddy's Pub in Park Slope absolutely exist, but the other bars in the crawl and the Fighting Irish boxing match are all made up. (Except McNally's, which totally exists where I live. They have great pizza.) 
> 
> I took creative license because I do what I want. 
> 
> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


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